I catch her eye from across the beach, lifting my hands to sign,‘You all right?’
She nods, shooting back a one-handed,‘Fine.’
‘Need anything? Chocolate? Advil?’I pause, racking my brain for an ASL equivalent ofnunchucksand coming up blank. I act out the motion best as I can, and Wendy laughs before pressing her lips quickly together, giving me a reproachful look that reminds me of her father.
‘I’m fine,’she repeats.‘But thanks.’
I nod, gaze finding Lawson, the man stunning in his swim trunks with his hair still wet and his broad body on display. I try to ignore the deep well ofwantthat swamps me at the sight of him. The fact that, despite my question about him dating, I don’t want Lawson experimenting with other men when he has me. That it’s a terrible, bad idea to even entertain the idea of continuing the casual friends-with-benefits situation that was supposed to be a one-off but didn’t stop there. The realization, even, that I don’t want it to stop. Not even close.
But all…this? It began as a way to help Lawson understand his sexuality. To make him feel good when all he’d had was a lifetime ofnot quite right.
I want to make up for every year Lawson spent with Laura. Want to rewrite every touch with my own. I want to give him things I never dared dream of. Cravings that, now unearthed, won’t leave my head.
Hindsight is a funny thing. How, like Lawson said, a truth can be so obvious when it was nothing but murky before.
If only I could see the future as easily as the past.
Chapter 17
Lawson
Oakley has a bug up his ass all day.
He denies it, but I can see him keeping a close eye on Koda, just waiting for the kid to step out of line.
Shortly before dinner, he asks for my truck keys, saying he’s grabbing more tampons for Wendy. I don’t think to question it until the man comes strolling into the mess hall with four grocery bags full of feminine hygiene products in his hands and a smirk lifting his lips.
Oh boy.
“Liv,” Oakley says, coming right up to the chaperones’ table and stopping before the camp leader. “Permission to give the camp attendees an educational demonstration on tampon use?”
I nearly choke on my spit.
Liv appraises Oakley, the rest of the adults wearing amused expressions. “Can I trust you to be purely factual?”
“You absolutely can,” Oakley answers.
Liv shrugs. “Permission granted.”
I watch in shock as Oakley proceeds to dump the contents of the bags onto a nearby table, the boxes of different kinds of tampons scattering. The kids are starting to look over at him now, no one seeming like they quite know what to think.
“May I have your attention?” Oakley calls, the hall quieting at once. “It recently came to light that not everyone of your age may be familiar with this product. And since menstruation is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, I’ll be giving y’all a tutorial. This”—he cracks a box open and holds up a single-use package—“is a tampon.”
“Gross,” one of the boys mutters. “We’re trying to eat here.”
Oakley tosses the tampon over to the kid’s table, ignoring his squawk and grabbing another out of the box in front of him. “By all means, keep on eating. No one’s stopping you.”
A few of the girls snicker, the boys looking decidedly uncomfortable.
Flashing a grin, Oakley faces the room at large. “Now, a typical period can last up to seven days. That’s seven days everymonth. Women or other individuals with uteruses spend approximately one quarter of their menstruating lives bleeding. That’s twenty-five percent of the time, folks. One out of every four days, they areactively. Shedding. Blood.”
Several of the kids groan, but nearly every girl is smiling now. The chaperones, too. I shake my head, feeling a fierce sort of pride swell in my chest.
“Now, I’m not even gonna touch on other accompanying symptoms one might experience during a period,” Oakley says, “because there’s simply no way to understand it if you don’t go through it. What I am going to do is talk about this arguably brilliant, convenient, and empowering invention: the tampon.”
Oakley peels the wrapper of the tampon open to a silent, rapt audience. The gleam in his eye is all the forewarning I get before Oakley’s gaze zeroes in on Koda.
Ah, Christ.
